Month: April 2008

I’m sitting directly underneath I-5 bridge on the north shore of lake Union. It’s sunny and peaceful. I’m watching kayakers row past, dogs catching Frisbees, and hear the roar of early evening traffic directly overhead.

Today turned out to be an exceptionally good day in the lab (i.e. my monkeys worked without breaking things, I learned what household metallic objects become deadly projectiles in the vicinity of MRI magnets, etc). Good enough for me to jet from the lab at 4pm without any reservations or guilt. I walked to Ivar’s Whale-Maker Lounge and promptly consumed three pints of Manny’s pale ale, a green salad and a plate of herb-dusted calamari. My fried food craving has been sated for the week. While seated, I attempted to grasp the effect of “diluted connections” on memory capacity of Hopfield neural network models.

I failed miserably.

Feeling less than happy with myself, I raised my head and noticed an attractive couple just seated at a table directly in front of mine. Both were nicely dressed (i.e. dating attire) and both drank fancy-pants garnished cocktails probably poured with top-shelf liquors. They seemed chill enough (despite my gawking)—that is, they seemed to be enjoying themselves but didn’t let out any gut-busting guffaws or anything. None of this is unusual for happy hour at Ivar’s. What caught my attention was the woman (or more precisely, the girl) had to have been less than half of the age of the man. My first thought: “Damn, that guy’s got it goin’ on! I should stay and take notes in case I’m ever his age and single.” He definitely had the whole Cadillac-commercial-“welcome-to-the-club-of-distinguished-gentlemen”-gentlemen vibe going for him.

I was fascinated. Then I looked closer. Their faces seemed to bear a slight familial resemblance…

Now I ask you, what man of 55-60 takes his college age daughter drinking at a cocktail lounge? Maybe I’m grasping for possibilities that refute the guy’s modjo (or whatever you want to call it) but if they were actually father and daughter enjoying cocktails at 5pm on a Monday afternoon, that’s a smidge taboo isn’t it? Sorry to get puritanical about social conventions, but their little get-together made me feel dirty. At that point I would have actually preferred that the guy had some magical allure rather than contemplate the alternative. Hopefully, that man is simply a professor taking an extracurricular interest in one of his doting students–or something innocent like that.

I woke up this afternoon feeling great. I guess I’m no good unless I get my 11 hours.

hmm… I’d say my PI is 3 parts Demi-God, 2 parts Slave-Driver and 1 part Psycho. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not complaining. At least he’s predictable.

A few minutes ago I was blissfully walking from Wallingford to the U-district en route to catch my bus to Lake City. Above the roar of evening traffic, a passer-by shouts something at me that I couldn’t quite make out. Instinctively (and despite knowing better) I shout back “what did you say?” The man turns, and in the thickest eastern European accent I’ve ever heard he says “I’m sorry, your face look like faces I see in my home country–Ukraine. I tell you Ukrainian greeting. Have you heard of Ukraine? Have you met Ukrainian before?” I respond “Yes, I’ve heard of the Ukraine. No, I’ve never met a Ukrainian before.” He continues “You seem like proud man who can help me. I’m nervous, my English not so good.” I tell him that I can understand him fine. He sported a black button up sweater over an addidas track suit, he was shaven and clean-cut, didn’t smell, wasn’t drunk or high, and his eyes conveyed desperation.

According to him, he has been in our great land of opportunity for 3 weeks. In that time he has:
1) been forced to vacate the Seattle bus station by the police
2) lost his ID and thus cannot get a room or buy a bus ticket with what little money he has left
3) been the victim of a hit-and-run on Seneca and 4th in downtown after which he
4) found himself in intensive care with a broken hip and without a big toe (I saw this for myself, the poor guy walked with a bad limp)
5) been duped out of money by some slumlord
6) assaulted by one of the U-district’s finest (from the sound of it, by a crack dealer in front of Jack in the Box)
7) learned that gangrene is starting to set in where his toe has been amputated.
8) been warned by police that the U-district is rife with con-men

All of this I had to decipher from his discernible, but broken, English. “I’m sorry buddy I really am. People haven’t helped you, and the police have hassled you, because you’re bad off. In our country, poor people are often treated like garbage no matter who they are or what their story is.” He was astonished that a person such as I spoke with such candor. I think he saw me as some well-to-do model citizen. “Finally, somebody understands! I tell my story to many people but you are the first one to say this thing” he exclaimed with relief. I continued “I’m embarrassed that some asshole could hit a pedestrian with his car and not even stop–in downtown no less.”

Either his story is real, or his act is good enough to merit the money I gave him. I do hope he is for real, that way I can selfishly feel good about helping him. The skeptic in me knows I’m a pushover for any hard-luck story.

Last night I pounded out my most furious drumbeats as my sister sang praise over them.

I don’t think we committed blasphemy…did we?

I just overheard the phrase: “most ghettoest”.

My life is now complete.

Thank you Moon Temple cocktail lounge of Wallingford. Just when I thought my life couldn’t possibly be any more diverse, you’ve expanded my realm of experience ten-fold!

There I was a week ago, so proud of myself for making it through all of winter without being sick. I even knocked on formica as I proudly proclaimed it out loud. I woke up this morning feelin’ like shit run-over twice. I got a fever to end all fevers. And if it doesn’t break soon I feel like I’m gonna be pushin’ up daisies. Maybe that’s a tad dramatic–guess I’m a baby when I get sick. **Pleack**